


everything bends until it breaks

by boston_sized_city



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boston_sized_city/pseuds/boston_sized_city
Summary: -When Mark went missing, Oliver felt like a piece of him had been ripped away. His whole life fell apart all at once.-
Relationships: Mark Bryant/Oliver Ritz, Oliver Ritz & Joan Bright
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil fic i've been working on :)
> 
> the au is mark and oliver met in high school (aged down oliver, obviously, so they'd be in high school at the same time) and that changes the events of tbs, but mark still gets taken by the am.
> 
> cws:  
> \- referenced torture  
> \- brief suicidal thoughts  
> \- canon-typical damien being damien
> 
> (title from recover by ruelle)

When Mark went missing, Oliver felt like a piece of him had been ripped away. His whole life fell apart all at once.

He didn't talk to anyone after it happened. Stopped answering his parents' calls, stopped talking to Joan. He couldn't handle facing anyone.

He regretted that soon enough. He felt nothing but regret as he was dragged into the basement of some facility- The AM, he'd heard them call it. They’d probably told him. He'd probably been too panicked to hear.

As they dragged him through the dark hallway, he saw the dim light of an open door as someone went into a room. Through the opening, he could see into the room, and caught sight of a man lying still on a bed, hooked up at multiple machines.

His eyes widened when he recognized the man.

And he suddenly couldn't move, stumbling as the guard holding onto his arm kept walking. He felt the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

He wrenched his arms free from the guard's hold and ran towards the room. _ "Mark!-"  _

The guard tugged him back forcefully, making him bite down hard on his tongue. He could feel the blood pool in his mouth. There was a hot rush of pain in his skull, but he barely noticed it, the ache in his chest overwhelming him. His heart hammered, his thoughts nearly drowned out.

_ Mark. Mark is in here. They took Mark. They're the reason I lost Mark. I lost Mark. Mark is here.  _

He kicked out at the guard holding him, but their grip only tightened. Tears obscured his vision.  _ Mark.  _ He kicked again, trying to move his hands in his restraints. "Let- Let me  _ go!"  _ He choked a little, and struggled.

The guard grabbed his arm with his other hand, sending a sharp pain up to his shoulder. Then he felt another sharp pain, and fell limp, the world around fading out.

-

Oliver came to in a dim room, his neck bent uncomfortably and his back pressed against a cold stone wall with grooves that dug into his shoulders. He groaned in pain as he lifted his head, sitting fully back against the wall.

His arm was sore. His head throbbed.

He looked up, and it hit him all at once. He was in a cell. He was in a cell  _ at the AM.  _ The AM who kidnapped Mark. Who were holding Mark in the same basement Oliver was in.

He pulled himself up, pain shooting up his arm. Oliver winced, rubbing his arm.

The cell was cold, which he hadn't fully noticed until he'd stood up. He immediately went to the bars, using them to balance himself on his feet. He looked into the hall, trying to see the room again. Trying to find Mark.

Then he found it. The door was shut, and he couldn't see into the room at all-- there had been a clear window, he was sure of it, but he couldn't see it now-- but it was there.

He felt his chest tighten, and, pitifully, he started to cry again, falling onto his knees and dropping his head against the cool metal in front of him. "Mark… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

-

It was unclear how long Oliver had been in the AM. Days, weeks, maybe longer. Time seemed to slip through his fingers, his only hint anymore being the hardly consistent meals they provided him.

And the torture. He was unsure if the torture had a schedule or not, but he'd started using it to keep track.

A tally etched into the wall for every meal, and an 'x' for every experiment. Experiment. That's what they'd called them, but Oliver was a scientist. He  _ knew  _ the difference between an experiment and torture. This was torture.

They'd pull him out of his cell, drag him to what vaguely resembled a hospital room. The torture was different every time, at least. They spiced things up every once in a while, too, by bringing in other atypicals to do the torturing for them.

Oliver's least favorite, so far, had been an electropath whose job was to shock him, while AM employees stood by to see how Oliver responded.

The test, according to the director, had been to see if transmutation had the ability to stop him from being electrocuted. It didn't. He still had the scars.

They hadn't pulled him out of his cell yet-- at least, he assumed that this was a new day, given the one meal he'd received several hours earlier. So he sat, waiting, fighting with himself about whether or not trying to transmute his own blood into alcohol was worth it. The AM certainly might have thought so, it sure would have been an interesting use of his ability.

Then he heard footsteps, and braced himself. Whatever they were going to do to him today, he would be ready for it. Or at least pretend to be.

But the voice he heard then didn't sound like an AM employee. The man's voice was cool, and everything about it made Oliver uneasy.

Then he heard the name "Mark," and his blood ran cold.

He tensed when he heard the man get closer, and then he saw him come into view, walking past him straight for Mark's room.

“What are you going to do to him?” Oliver spoke up when he found his voice. He felt some awful pull at his chest. He stared at the stranger, who he thought looked like he belonged there more than Oliver or Mark ever had. He wanted to hit him, for coming in here, for whatever he was going to do to Mark. 

The stranger stopped, and looked over at him. He rolled his eyes. “God, seriously?” he said, sounding annoyed at the interruption. “Who the fuck are you?”

Oliver didn’t want to tell him. He really didn’t. And then- He did. It was an odd feeling, and he had no idea why he suddenly wanted to answer this guy’s question. “Oliver- Ritz. I’m- I was, Mark's fiancé."

"Fiancé, huh?" He smiled, more a smirk than anything. "Don't worry, I'll take real good care of him." His voice was dripping with condescension.

It made Oliver want to hit him. "Don't touch him," he said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to try and break out of the cell right there. 

The stranger only smiled, still looking somewhat annoyed. "Shut up."

So Oliver shut up, shrinking back further into his cell. He wanted… He wanted to let this guy go on his way, wanted to be quiet and stay back from him.  _ I'm sorry, Mark. _

He watched the guy go past him and into Mark's room. And he started to sob, falling back against the wall. "Don't- Please, don't hurt him," he said softly, to an empty hall.

It didn't take long for the stranger to emerge again. And Mark- Mark was with him.  _ Awake. _

Oliver stood up, his vision blurring for a moment as he tried to blink away his tears. "Mark?" It came out breathless and choked.

Mark looked up at him, and frowned. His expression was confused and unfamiliar. "What?"

"You- You're awake, you're  _ okay-"  _ Oliver tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes again, and this time he let them fall.

He saw, next to Mark, that the stranger smirked.

"Who are you?" Mark asked, and Oliver's entire world shattered.

He tried to find any trace of humor in Mark's face. Any sign that was kidding. That this wasn't real. Because this couldn't… This couldn't be real.

"I- I know it's been a long time," he managed, choking on the words. "It's me- It's Oliver."

Mark's expression didn't change. He shook his head slightly. "I don't… know an Oliver," he said.

It felt like Oliver had been stabbed. "Come on, you know me-" He was  _ begging  _ now. "We met in high school, remember? We've been together for almost all of that, we're  _ engaged-" _

He thought he saw something flash in Mark's eyes before the stranger who was with him stepped between them. "And that's enough of that," he said, looking at Oliver. "Now, don't confuse the poor guy more than he already is." Oliver tried to say something, tried to speak up, but he was cut off. "Don't. Lie."

Oliver stayed silent as he watched them leave- Mark only glancing back once- and then broke down, falling to the floor and sobbing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter twoooo
> 
> cws:  
> \- trauma

"Mr. Ritz?"

He flinched at the sudden voice, and looked up at the agent standing in front of his cell. "Look, I think I've had enough torture for one day, so do you think we could take a raincheck on this one?"

Agent Green shook his head slightly, looking a little startled. "No- There's, uh. Someone here to see you, actually."

Oliver got up, feeling pathetic for letting himself get just a little hopeful. "To see me?" Then he frowned. "You guys allow visitation now?" he asked.

"Not exactly," Green said, and he looked like he was about to say more when footsteps started coming towards them. Green turned to greet the visitor, who still was out of Oliver's sight. "Director Wadsworth."

"Agent Green." Wadsworth stepped into view, and Oliver almost instinctively moved further back into his cell. She smiled at him. "Lovely to see you, Mr. Ritz. Yesterday, one of our patients left the facility. One of our guards heard you speaking to the man who helped him."

He felt sick suddenly. "I wasn't- I didn't help them, I…" He trailed off, letting his voice fade.

"Oh, we know." Wadsworth's smile was fake, condescending. "The atypical, or at least one of them, responsible has turned herself in."

Oliver frowned. "Who-?"

His question was cut off as more footsteps came towards them. One of the guards, he didn't recognize him well enough to place a name, was holding the arm of a girl who looked around Oliver's age. She wasn't looking at him.

"Samantha," Wadsworth said.

"You said you would let him out," Samantha said, her voice tight. "You promised Joan-"

Oliver's eyes widened. "Joan?" It seemed impossible, that she could somehow be involved in all of this.

Wadsworth ignored him. "Believe it or not, I do keep my promises," she said, and extended her hand towards the guard holding Samantha's arm. 

He handed her an odd-looking sort of key, and before Oliver could process what she was doing, the door to his cell opened. "Oliver Ritz, you are free to go."

He almost sobbed. He turned, to thank Samantha, for whatever she did to get him out, to get Mark out, even if it hadn't exactly gone well. But he was forcefully pulled out of the cell by the guard holding Samantha, and she was pushed in.

"Officer, if you would escort Mr. Ritz," Wadsworth said, and made no effort to follow as Oliver's arm was tugged- rather harshly- and he started to walk away from the cell.

The sunlight as he made it outside was enough to make Oliver break down again. He managed to collect himself more quickly this time, wiping his eyes and looking around. He barely managed to keep from crying again when he saw Joan, standing in front of her familiar car.

And he almost tripped over his own feet when he ran to hug her.

Joan was tiny, compared to him, shorter than Mark was. He hugged her easily, holding her tight against his chest. The feeling was unfamiliar, but welcome. They hadn't exactly been best friends, even before Mark went missing, but nothing helped two people get close like losing the most important person in their lives.

She pulled away first. "We don't have a lot of time," she said, her words rushed and frantic. "I don't want Sam to be in there for that long, and Damien- We don't know how far he could have gotten."

"Damien?" Oliver asked. A pit formed in the bottom of his stomach. "He- He's the guy who took Mark," he said quietly. The words hurt as they left his throat.

Joan nodded slightly. She bit her lip. "Oliver, did he… Did he say anything to you? Mark?"

He'd almost forgotten. Almost completely forced himself to forget. He scratched at his wrist, no longer looking at Joan. He swallowed. "He… asked who I was," he said after a minute, unsure if the words actually made it out.

"Oliver… I'm sorry." Joan shook her head slightly. "We- We're going to get him back. I- We have to get him back."

"What if he forgot everything?" Oliver asked, his voice barely there. "What if we get him back and he never remembers me?"

Joan hugged him again. It was more awkward this time, she had to lean up to reach him and it was an odd position without him hugging her back.

She pulled away. "We'll get him back. The way he was. I don't- I don't know what happened, or why he's… I don't know. But we'll fix it." We have to, she almost said. Oliver could see it in her scared expression.

He tried to ignore the dull ache in his chest. "We should… leave, then. Get moving." Before it's too late, he didn't say.

She nodded, and unlocked her car, moving aside to let him get in.

-

The house felt empty when Oliver walked into it. It was the same empty feeling as when Mark had first disappeared. He hated it, and he would have rather been anywhere else.

Not anywhere else, he thought, shaking his head a little as he looked around.

There was some comfort, at least. The house was warm, familiar. It had carpets and windows and it had been so long since he'd had windows. He settled on the couch, closing his eyes.

The ride had been mostly silent, Joan only spoke to apologize for not knowing, for letting him get taken away, too, for not being able to save Mark. And then she spoke again to say goodbye as he got out of the car. Oliver hadn't said a word.

Now he wished he'd said something. Though he didn't know what, exactly. He let out a sigh and leaned back, curling up a little to try and get some sleep.

Sleep didn't come. Oliver could barely close his eyes without some awful memory he didn't want coming back. Eventually he gave up, maybe for the better; He wasn't sure he could handle nightmares tonight.

Joan had given him a phone before he left the car, so he could call her or his parents.

His parents. They were probably worried sick about him, and hell, even if they weren't, he hadn't spoken to them in over a year. He picked up the phone and pressed the numbers he had memorized, putting it on speaker so he could put the phone on the table, his hands shaking.

"Hello?" He wanted to cry when he heard his mother's voice. He was silent for a minute, trying to collect himself. "Who is this?" She sounded impatient now.

"Mom?" Oliver's voice wavered. He felt like a little kid again, calling his mom from the police station after running away for two days.

The other end was silent for a moment. "Oliver?" she asked quietly. "You're okay. We were so worried about you, you didn't answer anyone's calls, you never came to visit like you said, we thought-" He heard her take in a breath. "We thought something had happened to you."

"I'm okay," Oliver said, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He swallowed. "Some bad stuff happened. But I'm fine now, I'm safe. I just-" He tried to think of what he could say, of any lie that would even remotely explain why he was as broken as he was. "Mark went missing, and I went to look for him and I- I found him. I'm home. He didn't come with me, he-" He could feel the tears in his throat, and broke off before his mom could hear him cry.

There was another long silence. He didn't blame her. Even with everything he took out, that was… A lot to hear. "Oliver… Do you need to come home?" The question startled him. "We just- I don't want you to be alone right now, and I know you're an adult, but it sounds like you're having a really hard time, and it might be best to-"

"Okay," Oliver cut in. He wiped away tears he hadn't noticed started falling. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll come home. Thank you, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too." He thought he heard her crying, too. "We all do. I'll tell everyone you're coming, we'll make up a room."

Oliver picked up the phone, thankful his hands had stopped shaking, and took it off speaker. "Thank you. I- I'll see you at home."

He hung up before she could respond, and collapsed onto his couch, letting himself cry.


	3. Chapter 3

Joan drove him again. He thanked her, this time, for the ride as he got out. She asked if he wanted her to carry in his things, and he shook his head, picking up his only bag and saying goodbye as he turned to go into the house.

He took a breath at the front door. And then he knocked.

_The door opened, and Oliver smiled as he saw his mother. "Oliver! And– Oh, Mark. Lovely to see you. It isn't the holidays already, is it?"_

_Oliver shook his head, beaming now. "We're not– staying, exactly. We just wanted to tell you in person." He felt Mark grab his hand, something he did when he was nervous, and squeezed it, his thumb brushing over the silver ring._

_"Tell me what?" Irena smiled warmly._

_Mark gave Oliver's hand another squeeze before letting go. "We're engaged," he said, a smile in his voice._

Oliver was pulled out of the memory as the door opened. He tried to smile when he saw his mom in the doorway. He didn't have to keep it up for long; She immediately pulled him into a hug, holding onto him tightly, like she was worried he would disappear again.

If he was honest, he was worried about that, too.

He pulled back, hoping his glasses hid his eyes enough.

Irena kissed his forehead, and his cheek, and held his face in her hands. "You're home."

"Yeah." He swallowed thickly, and this time didn't bother trying to smile.

"Come inside, you'll catch a cold." She wrapped an arm around his shoulders to pull him inside, taking his bag from him as she shut the door behind them.

"Mom, I—" Oliver's throat felt dry. The words died in his throat. He thought he might break down right there in the living room.

She didn't seem to hear him. "Oh, your father will be so happy to see you, he's been just pacing in the kitchen all day since I told him you were coming."

"Dad's here?" Oliver managed, and didn't wait for an answer before walking past her into the kitchen, finding his father at the counter, cutting fruit. He hesitated. "Dad?"

David turned around, dropping his knife. He was still for a moment before he moved forward, pulling Oliver into a tight hug. "Oliver," he said into his hair, and Oliver thought he might have been crying. He'd never heard his dad cry.

"I'm sorry." He could barely get the words out. He hugged him tighter. His head was spinning, and felt awful, knowing anything he could say wouldn't be enough. He owed them an explanation. He owed them the _truth_.

"Oliver?" Irena's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see her in the doorway. "Why don't you come sit on the couch?"

Oliver hesitated. "I– I actually need to talk to both of you," he said, able to hear his own heartbeat. His dad let go of him, but kept a hand on his shoulder.

Irena nodded slightly. "We can talk in the living room,” she said, and he nodded.

Now they'd been sitting in silence for ten minutes. "Take your time," Irena had said, gently rubbing circles between Oliver's shoulders.

He sat between his parents, and he'd never felt more like a child. He pulled at his sleeves and looked down at his lap. "I need to tell you something. And I _need_ you to believe me."

"Of course we will, honey," his mother assured him.

He knew she couldn't promise that. No one could. He took a breath. "Mark was kidnapped." He heard his mother gasp, and paused before continuing, knowing it would only get worse. "I went to look for him, and I was kidnapped, too."

Irena's hand stilled against his back. "Oliver—"

"Let me finish." He looked up at her, trying to ignore the pained, concerned look in her eyes. "Please." She nodded, and went quiet. He looked away from her again, back at his lap, at his hands. "I can do things. Things that no one should be able to do, things that most people can't."

His parents were both quiet, and then David spoke up. "You've always been bright—" he started.

Oliver shook his head. He swallowed thickly, and then stood up, walking over to the kitchen. He could faintly hear his mother calling, but he tuned her out as he grabbed an ice cube from the freezer, then walked back and sat down where he was before. Holding the ice in his hands, he focused on it, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. It melted in his hands, and then quickly froze again.

He didn't know what reaction he was expecting, or how he would react to it. He'd been preparing his whole life for this, figuring out what he'd say, what he'd do if it went badly. And now he'd forgotten everything.

"Magic?" his mother whispered.

"No, it isn't– It's not magic." Oliver melted the ice cube and wiped his hands on his jeans. "I'm an alchemist. I can– transmute things. Mark was– Mark _is_ , he's– Well, I don't really– No one really knows what he is, he can use the abilities of other people around him."

"There are others like you?" his father asked.

He almost flinched. "A lot of them," he said. "Not a huge percentage of the population, but there are a lot of us. It– We're called atypicals, the people that have these abilities."

It was quiet again, for longer this time. "This is a lot," his mother said eventually. _You don't know the half of it,_ he thought. "We're– We'll need some time to process this."

He couldn't help thinking that it wasn't fair. _He_ wasn't given any time to process anything, and he was the one with the freak superpower, the one whose entire life fell apart because of it. And he couldn't help saying it, either, apparently, as he looked up and saw the way his parents were looking at him, and realized that he'd said everything out loud. He wanted to disappear.

"How long?" his father asked. His voice wavered, and Oliver tried not to get up and run. "How long have you known?"

He looked down. "Since I was eleven."

"Eleven…" he heard his mother echo in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell us?" she asked him.

"I didn't know how you would react." He exhaled. "I was already a freak to everyone else. I didn't want you guys to hate me, too. I didn't want to make your lives even more difficult than I already did. I didn't want to be more of a burden."

He immediately regretted saying it. He'd never told his parents about that, about the fears he'd had since he was little. "You were never a burden," Irena said quietly.

Oliver looked up at her. "I'm an adult, Mom, I can handle the truth. I only made your lives harder since I was a kid and I'm not exactly helping that now."

"Oliver." Irena bit her lip, and sighed. “You never made our lives harder, you _don’t_. This is-- This is a lot, honey, but it--” She seemed to consider her words for a moment before speaking again. “Of course it is. We’ll need some time to adjust, but anyone would.”

“But I didn’t get any time.” This time Oliver said it on purpose. “I know it’s-- it’s a lot, but I just-- I _couldn’t_ tell you before, and now I need you. Mark is missing again. He--” He didn’t know how to say it. How to tell them everything. “He’s gone and I don’t know if he’s ever coming back this time,” he said finally.

His parents were both quiet. Then after a minute, his mother stood up and walked out of the living room. Oliver’s heart sank into his stomach, and he felt the tears starting to form. He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, not looking at his father. Then he got up. “Tell the others I-- I missed them, and if I don’t come back, I-- I love them,” he said, and then he ran.

* * *

Joan’s house was quiet, the windows all dark. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell, and stood back, rocking idly on his heels while he waited. It was a few minutes before he heard the door unlock, and then it opened. Joan blinked at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Oliver? I thought-- I thought you were with your family.”

“I told them,” he blurted. “I told them that I’m atypical, and that Mark is, too, and I thought it was okay, but I think I ruined it and I left before I could make it any worse.”

“Oliver, hey-- Breathe.” Joan held his arm. “How did they react when you told them?” she asked him gently.

He breathed. “They said-- They said it was okay, they just needed some-- some time to process. It should have been good enough, I don’t know why I… I just made everything worse.”

She was silent for a moment. “Why don’t you come inside?” she said finally, and he nodded, following her in. She shut the door behind him and led him into the living room.

Once both of them were sitting on the couch, Oliver hugging a pillow in his lap and raking his fingers over the soft material, the tension seemed to ease just slightly. Neither of them spoke yet, though. Oliver didn’t want to push her away, too. She was his _friend_ , and the closest connection to Mark that he had left.

She looked like him. He thought that should have hurt. In books, in all the movies he’d seen, the grieving characters always got so upset around their loved one’s family. The resemblance reminded them of what they’d lost, he figured. But he didn’t get that feeling. Maybe it was because he still had hope _somewhere_ , hope that he hadn’t lost anything. Maybe there was a part of him that believed that Mark wasn’t really gone. 

He just wished he knew where that part of him was.


End file.
